


Captain

by Kalira



Category: Captain Harlock
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Getting Together, Longing, M/M, Post-Canon, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 23:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12242694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/pseuds/Kalira
Summary: Yama has been telling himself for years not to think about the Mark on his wrist, but lately it has been much harder to avoid doing so. Harlock hasn't spared so much as a thought to the one on his in a century, until a slip of the tongue suddenly brings it front and centre in his mind.





	Captain

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of a multi-fandom soulmate AU challenge. This is slightly different than the standard name-on-wrist soulmate mark AU, but it should (hopefully) be obvious how it differs in reading. If not, there's an explanation in the end notes. As always, mouseover for translations, and they are also listed in the end notes.

“Captain.” Yama said, suppressing the slow burn of awareness centring on his wrist, as always when he addressed his Captain; reminding himself _not this one_ , whatever the Mark barely hidden by his glove read. “The helm?”

Harlock stirred, lowering the arm he’d had bent up, hand beneath his chin. He tipped his jaw up, single eye sharp as his gaze fixed on Yama. His brow arched.

“A Gaia Coalition fleet.” Yama supplied, dipping his head in acknowledgement. He was growing better, and the Arcadia all but flew itself at times, but with this many ships coming after them, the true Captain should take the helm.

Harlock nodded, short and sharp, and swept to his feet as Yama moved back to give him room. Harlock strode to the helm, and Yama turned to head down to one of the control units for the guns, only for a gesture from his Captain to hold him back.

Harlock clasped his elbow and draw him closer, to Yama’s surprise. Harlock so rarely touched any of his crew, even now, and when he did it was almost always in the heat of a crisis, to lend assistance or a push out of harm’s way.

Now, though, he pulled Yama in front of himself, to the helm. Yama’s hands settled on the wheel automatically, of course - he had been piloting the Arcadia for months now - but as soon as they made contact he froze. He had summoned Harlock to the helm for a reason; they were facing a true fleet now and he hadn’t the skills of the Captain.

Harlock moved in close with him, however, his arms coming around Yama and his hands shadowing Yama’s on the wheel. Caging him there, between the Captain’s tall, slim body and the broad, solid wheel.

“You must learn sometime.” Harlock said, low voice soft, directed right into his ear. It was a strange contrast with the sounds of the guns firing, the Arcadia’s powerful engines rumbling, the shots fired upon them from the enemy fleet.

Yama nodded and tried to simply let Harlock guide his body. He was too aware of Harlock, warm at his back and almost impossibly steady. He barely paid any mind to the way Harlock steered the Arcadia, and the shudder of ramming into one of the larger Gaia Coalition ships only made his hands tighten on the wheel - Harlock’s slid over his own, tightening as well, their gloves chafing lightly - and Harlock’s body press closer, the feel of him there even more inescapable as the impact vibrations rolled through them both.

Harlock coordinated the attack - to what little degree their crew needed his direction - from the helm, and he kept Yama with him through the entire battle. He wasn’t sure how much he actually learned from the Captain, consumed more with the feel of where he was - and trying to fight down his own reactions to it, to keep his hands from shaking, his voice steady in the rare moments when Harlock asked a response of him.

The battle ended with cheers echoing back through the Arcadia, and the thrumming sound of the ship beginning to heal itself from what minor damage had been dealt. Yama began to relax just a little, letting out a breath of relief.

It caught in his throat as Harlock’s hands slid over his own and up his arms.

“Well done, mon petit lapinou.” Harlock murmured in his ear, fingertips flicking through Yama’s hair where it fell over his jaw on the right side.

Yama twisted, looking at the Captain, eye wide.

Harlock was already striding away, his cloak billowing around his long legs, his metal-soled boots clicking on the deck with the usual surprisingly soft sound.

“Thank you, Captain.” Yama said, and flexed his fingers, watching Harlock walk away and trying not to think of the dull red script across his wrist.

**_Captain_ **

Maybe, but. . . Not this one. Not Harlock, the century-old legend - the man who had locked himself into this cycle, with his haunted ship. Whatever his admiration and even love for the man - the whole crew adored him, every last soul aboard the Arcadia - Yama would not let himself believe that. And even if he were to think his Mark was for Harlock. . .

Yama was not the fool he had once been, and he had always known . . . whatever his hopes, finding his soulmate - his **_Captain_** \- even if he could, was hardly likely to end in a happy love story for him.

Not when he bore a title and not a name, an endearment, something - anything - _personal_ etched into his skin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harlock sighed, stripping his gloves off and running his fingers through his hair as he set them aside. He slipped his cape off, hands finding the buckles and buttons that held it cowled around his shoulders with practised swiftness.

He leaned down to work off his boots, ignoring the deep green script across his wrist, as he had every time it was actually bared even to his own sight for more than a century. The boots were the most stubborn articles he wore, and after they were off, the rest of his clothes quickly followed suit and were set aside.

It wasn’t until he was stepping into the shower, pushing his hair back as the water fell on him, that his eyes actually caught on it. He paused, lowering his hand again, turning his wrist upwards and truly _looking_ at the words for the first time in years.

**_mon petit lapinou_ **

When he was young, Harlock had been a little dubious about the Mark - had kept it private from his fellow soldiers, when he eventually joined the military - but he’d daydreamed, like anyone might, about the person it was meant for.

By the time he’d been put in charge of a ship in the Deathshadow Martyr fleet he had almost given up hope of ever finding his soulmate, to Tochiro’s dismay. He had tried repeatedly to coax Harlock to keep hope, to keep _looking_ \- not that it would be easy to find his soulmate with a petname, rather than an actual name, to look for.

A petname Harlock had barely been able to see himself ever using, even then. And Harlock had been a . . . softer person, then.

Then the Gaia Coalition had betrayed their own convictions and Harlock had not been able to stand it. Had fought them back, fulfilled the cause he had sworn to uphold - had lost his honour, his best friend, and his eye in the battle. Had lost humanity the Earth.

Harlock had nearly died and Tochiro _had_ died, even if he had stayed with Harlock. In his own way and far more fully but . . . like Miime, he was bound to the ship.

Harlock hadn’t asked, and he wouldn’t, now, but he had wondered sometimes if one of the Niflung - even perhaps Miime herself - had been Tochiro’s soulmate.

Harlock had long ago given up any thought of finding the person his Mark was meant for.

. . .and now Harlock had, for the first time, given the petname that he bore etched into his skin to someone. He had never even spoken the words properly before, only half-whispered them, imagining the man to whom they might belong. **_mon petit lapinou_**.

 _It just suits him_ , Harlock thought almost defensively, scrubbing shampoo through his hair with irritated determination.

Then-

It _did_ suit him. Harlock could, bizarrely, see himself calling Yama that again, could see it becoming something that he just- Said. Words that crossed his lips easily, _for one person_.

Suddenly Harlock desperately needed to know what Yama’s wrist bore. He had never seen the other man’s Mark, of course; most of Harlock’s crew kept their Marks concealed at all times, which Harlock himself had perhaps only encouraged by the example of his own always-covered wrist, though it was never spoken of.

But now. . .

Harlock ducked beneath the water, rinsing the suds from his hair before spinning and striding out of the shower. He _had to know_. If there was even the slightest-

Harlock had never before even thought of appending that name to anyone. Now that he had, without even a thought beforehand, surely it had to _mean something_ , even if he had never thought he would find his soulmate, now, and after so many years. . .

Harlock barely bothered to try and dry himself before tugging on clean clothes and almost running out the door of his chambers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“It could be sweet, though,” Nami said, smiling at Yama as he lightly clasped one of his mother’s flowers, “to keep to-”_

_“ **Captain?** ” Isola snorted disdainfully. “If you never call them anything more, it doesn’t sound much like you’ll be welcomed.”_

_Yama’s throat tightened and he bowed his head, even as Nami’s soft hand curled over his own comfortingly. “Yes, nii-san.” he said softly. It wasn’t as though it was a thought Yama hadn’t had himself already, even if it hurt to hear it from his big brother._

_He looked at the stark red strokes, his hands curled in his lap. Nami squeezed his right hand gently._

In his bunk aboard the Arcadia, Yama rolled over, taking a deep breath. He looked at his wrist, caressing his Mark, barely visible in the dimly-lit room. Of course he had _wished_ for his soulmate, but he hadn’t . . . he had still been quite young when he first realised that his bearing the title ‘Captain’ as his Mark was unlikely to bode well for his relationship with his soulmate.

It hadn’t made any difference to his decision not to follow his brother into the military - he had always wanted to work with plants, to follow that passion, inherited from their mother - but following that path he had certainly been distanced from-

Yama startled at the quick, almost urgent tapping at his door. No one ever knocked on his door, not really - Kei sometimes rounded him up for meals, as though she still felt responsible for him as she had been when he was first recruited, but not generally from his room. And not in the middle of the ‘night’ cycle on board the ship.

He rose, the dim lights just above the floor at the base of every wall enough to see by as he crossed the room. He opened the door and his eye widened. “C- Captain?” he asked blankly, shocked.

Harlock stood in the corridor just outside Yama’s room, alone, and-

Presented with the Captain like _this_ , Yama didn’t quite know where to look - Harlock looked so . . . different from his usual self. His clothes were loose and . . . clung damply to his body, his hair was spiked with water and dripped across his face, which was bare of his eye patch for the first time Yama had ever seen. He looked down hurriedly, trying not to stare, and found that Harlock was barefoot as well.

“Yama, I need. . .” Harlock’s voice was hard and urgent but still quiet, and it faded away quickly, his words trailing into silence. Yama tentatively looked up again and found Harlock still looking at him with a strange expression.

“Captain?” Yama asked, and tugged distractedly at his nightshirt as Harlock’s eye fixed on the hem of one slightly ragged sleeve. It wasn’t exactly what he would have chosen if he’d known he’d be facing the Captain. “What do you- What can I do?”

Harlock stepped forwards and Yama wavered on his feet. He hurriedly ducked out of the way, releasing the door as the Captain strode into his room.

“Yama. . .” Harlock whirled, eye bright. He looked no less intense than usual, but it was . . . different, like this. He reached out for Yama and he realised that the Captain wasn’t wearing his gloves, either - somehow almost stranger than the lack of boots - and the cuffs of his loose shirt barely flirted with his wrists.

Harlock didn’t actually take hold of Yama, dropping his hand, frowning slightly. “Captain?” he asked softly, looking out into the corridor, but though it was lit brighter than Yama’s room, it was empty and quiet.

“Yama.” Harlock said again, tipping his head and squaring his jaw. “Yama, what does your Mark say?” he asked, and Yama’s eye widened again.

“Captain.” he answered automatically, not even thinking of denying the Captain the answer, and felt his cheeks warm with a flush.

“Yama, I-” a pause, “mon petit lapinou, I know it is,” Harlock shook his head, “but I must know, please. What does your Mark read?” He didn’t look at Yama’s arm again, eye fixed on his face instead.

Yama suddenly wondered why the Captain was _asking_ , and his heart leapt. It wasn’t necessarily a good feeling, alarm and curiosity and hope and dread. “I- No, it’s not that. I _did_ ,” he paused, and winced a bit, awkward, as he raised his left arm and offered it towards the Captain, “that _is_ what it reads, Captain. I- _Captain._ ”

Harlock faltered, looking shocked, but he reached out and cupped his hand beneath Yama’s, clasping lightly. Yama thought faintly that the Captain’s hand was so different from Nami’s - callused, though smooth rather than rough, and much bigger than hers, but still the touch was gentle and almost comforting, like hers had been.

Harlock caught the edge of Yama’s sleeve and pushed the material back, baring his Mark fully to the Captain’s eyes. Yama had to fight not to yank his arm away, though if Harlock chose not to let go, he could surely hold Yama easily.

The Captain stilled, his fingers sliding up from Yama’s hand to his forearm, but his grip stayed light. Yama’s Mark was turned upwards, the dull red script easy enough to read in the light spilling through from the corridor.

**_Captain_ **

“Captain-” Yama began without thinking, and then shuddered nervously, biting his lip.

Harlock’s head jerked up, his intense gaze catching Yama’s. Harlock’s face was. . . Yama wasn’t sure what to call his expression, but it made him swallow nervously, wishing he could look away from Harlock.

“Est-ce toi? Mon petit lapinou?” Harlock murmured, and Yama opened his mouth, then closed it with a confused sound, still unable to drag his gaze away from Harlock’s dark eye. Harlock stepped closer, letting go of Yama’s sleeve finally but still holding his wrist. “Is it you?”

Yama flushed, shifting uncertainly. “Captain, I don’t- I never thought. . .” Finally he managed to look away, and his gaze fell on his own arm. He flushed with shame as he thought of his earlier . . . wistfulness directed towards the Captain, his stomach turning.

Harlock’s left hand rose to his face, gentle fingertips sliding over his cheek, the cup of a worn, callused palm cradling his jaw. “Mon petit lapinou.” he said again, nonsensical but soft and simple.

“I don’t- Captain?” Yama asked as Harlock stepped close. Closer.

“I didn’t think.” Harlock said softly, the green tint in the warm brown of his eye vividly noticeable from this close. His voice was still slightly rough, deep and strong, but it was less closed off, his tone almost inviting. “I haven’t thought, not for . . . a very long time.”

Yama swallowed, glancing at Harlock’s mouth. He licked his lips, thumb rubbing gently over Yama’s cheek. “My Mark,” he said, and Yama’s heart jolted, “is a name I’ve never thought of giving to anyone else, but today. . .”

Yama leaned a tiny bit closer, not quite realising it was _he_ that had moved and not Harlock at first. Harlock took a shallow breath, their noses almost brushing, then pulled suddenly back. Yama winced, jerking back himself as well, but suddenly Harlock’s left arm was between them - not pushing him back, but offering his. . .

Yama looked between Harlock’s pale, slightly scarred hand and his face. It looked like he was trembling slightly, which was . . . incredible. He extended his arm a little further, and Yama’s hands were _definitely_ trembling as he lifted them to Harlock’s, eyes fixed on the small edges of something in deep, rich green visible at the hem of his sleeve.

He tentatively pushed back the loose sleeve, waiting for Harlock to push him away or step back himself, but he didn’t. He gave no sign that this wasn’t what he had been inviting. Yama’s fingers tightened in the fabric as he looked at the words on Harlock’s wrist, and he kept them there consciously, so he didn’t do something foolish like trail his fingertips over the script.

“Mon petit lapinou.” Harlock murmured, which still meant. . . Well, Yama didn’t _understand_ it, but-

“Me?” Yama asked, looking up, clinging a little harder to Harlock’s sleeve.

Harlock’s lips quirked in a slightly crooked, not quite uncomfortable smile. “I gave up hope of looking over a century ago.” he said, and Yama swallowed against the tightness winding around his throat for the sorrow in that. “I would not have thought to look _now_ , and to expect . . . just walking onto my ship. . .”

Yama licked his lips. “Captain, I-” he hesitated. “I have had to tell myself, every time I- I speak to you, not to think- _Not that one_ , not . . . mine. But not because I didn’t _want_. . .” It was as much as he could offer, breath coming too quick, his heart racing.

Harlock didn’t need anything more, however, stepping close once more and gently tugging Yama towards himself. Yama’s breath caught as he came almost in contact with Harlock’s body, radiating warmth across the tiny space between them. Harlock’s right hand slid over his cheek, encouraging him to tilt his head up, which he did without thinking.

Harlock bowed his head, lips brushing almost delicately over Yama’s as he leaned that tiny bit closer. Yama was frozen, not quite with _shock_ , but. . . It only lasted for an instant, and then he pushed into the caress, _letting_ his fingers drift over Harlock’s wrist - his Mark - as they settled into a soft kiss.

Harlock’s hand slipped over his shoulder and down his back, and Yama brought up his own without thinking, resting on Harlock’s waist. He was reminded abruptly of how dressed down the Captain was, and newly surprised at it, as his fingers brushed warm skin with only a thin layer of soft fabric between them.

And he wondered. Had Harlock come, like _this_ , in the middle of the night, because. . .

He had come running to _Yama_ \- to ask about his Mark, to _see_ it. Because he had thought that they could be matched. Yama reached up, clasping the nape of Harlock’s neck, and kissed him harder, pulling himself up against his Captain. He felt a little lightheaded at that thought.

 _His_ Captain - not just his Captain, his commander, the legendary pirate captain of the Arcadia, but . . . Yama’s **_Captain_** , the one he had feared would never truly want him.

He had to break away from Harlock’s warm, consuming kiss to swallow down the lump in his throat and catch his breath, but when he turned his head away a bit, flushing shyly, Harlock only nuzzled his cheek softly. The light caress was almost soothing.

“You have had to remind yourself that I could not be yours, mon petit lapinou?” Harlock asked, his voice soft, and Yama swallowed hard, a nervous tremor running through him.

He looked up to his Captain, and Harlock brushed his hair aside gently. Yama might have flinched away from anyone else - he mostly kept the scarring around his ruined eye covered, certainly when others on the crew might see him - but Harlock. . .

Harlock had seen him when it was fresh and bleeding, had _helped_ him then, and Harlock. . .

Well, Harlock had no doubt seen worse - given the state of the scar crossing his face, likely even beneath his own habitual patch.

“I didn’t . . . _want_ to, but how could I a-” Yama shook his head, hand creeping up Harlock’s chest, fingertips curling as they passed his collarbone. “How could I have let myself think it might be _you_? You’re . . . a legend,” he swallowed, “and you’re my Captain. I didn’t think there was even a chance you would be. . .” he trailed off, flushing.

“Your Captain?” Harlock supplied, his lips curving up just slightly, a spark of mischief in his eye. He looked _happy_ , and it took Yama’s breath away. The Captain never. . . He never really seemed happy, even when he smiled and jested, on occasion, with the crew.

Pleased, or proud, sometimes - and Yama had been the focus of both - but nothing so simple and pure as just _happiness_.

“Did you-” Yama broke off, not wanting to ask _did you think of me before_ , and coughed quietly instead.

Harlock stroked his cheek, cupping his jaw and kissing him again, still a soft caress but not so shallow as his first kiss had been. Yama moaned as his lashes fluttered and he closed his eye, growing a little bolder and wrapping his arms around Harlock.

He was surprised how much he could feel his Captain relaxing in his embrace, bowing close to him. His lips parted in a half-intentional invitation, and Harlock smiled against his mouth, purring softly, and sank into the kiss, drawing him up and delving into Yama’s mouth with quick, clever flicks of his tongue.

“I wanted you,” Harlock murmured almost before the kiss broke, “and I trusted you, but how could I have. . .” Both his hands came up to frame Yama’s face, and he stroked Yama’s unscarred cheek lightly. He didn’t step away even a little, though, even as their embrace unwound. “Following me, even if you chose the Arcadia and made your own path, has taken so much from you.” he murmured, and Yama’s eye widened.

Harlock smiled a bittersweet, barely-there sort of smile. “How could I have dreamed of asking anything more from you?”

Yama tugged him down and kissed him, firm but quick, thumbs sweeping over his face. “I _did_ choose my own path, for- for the first time in my life, really,” Yama smiled weakly, “and I chose to stay. . . To follow you, be at your side.” He closed his eye for a moment, swallowing, and stroked Harlock’s cheek. “And _this_ is. . .”

“Meant to be?” Harlock asked wryly, holding up his arm beside them and looking at it. Yama glanced over as well, the letters reading sensibly enough to him though he had no idea what the words meant.

“A gift.” Yama said, and Harlock startled. “Not something you are _asking_ of me, or taking - you took nothing I did not offer, and offered me far more yourself,” he said, feeling something thick in his throat, “but something that I. . .”

“Something not taken, but given on both sides?” Harlock asked, the smile playing over his lips stronger this time.

Yama relaxed a bit, sighing in relief that Harlock had understood. He nodded. Harlock’s smile widened, and he caught Yama’s hand, twining their fingers loosely - it felt oddly comfortable, a weirdly easy gesture from Harlock, unexpected for him - and squeezing.

Harlock brought his hand up, still twined with Yama’s, and looked at the Mark there again, with a soft, almost disbelieving look in his eye. Yama reached out and stroked his knuckles, clasping his wrist gently, and Harlock looked up to meet his gaze again.

“I’m your Captain, ne?” Harlock asked, thumb brushing Yama’s Mark.

Yama flushed. “Always . . . Captain.” he said softly, dipping his head and looking through his fringe at Harlock, grinning boldly.

Harlock laughed softly, looking surprised, and then went quiet, his expression smoothing out. He brought one hand up slowly, knuckles brushing Yama’s cheek. Yama’s door suddenly closed on its own, and he startled, though it had been slow and even the sound of the lock engaging had been unobtrusively quiet. He frowned at it.

“May. . . May I stay?” Harlock asked after a silence that stretched out comfortably, but strangely still between them. “Here with you?” He gently stroked Yama’s cheek again.

Yama felt a flash of surprise at the question, but he smiled faintly, feeling warmth rise to his cheeks. He dipped his head. “Of- Of course, Captain.” he invited, winding his hand around Harlock’s on his cheek. “Harlock.” he added quietly.

Harlock looked surprised to hear Yama say his name, but he didn’t protest it, certainly.

“Thank you, mon petit lapinou.” Harlock said, letting himself be drawn along as Yama moved towards the bed, shy but sure. A shiver ran down Yama’s spine, but he felt more confident upon hearing the petname - hearing the name Harlock bore given to _him_.

Yama released Harlock and moved to the far side of the bed, reaching for the blanket he had tossed aside carelessly as he rose. His fingers weren’t quite steady as he paused there, looking up at his Captain again, but Harlock tipped his head to one side, watching Yama patiently, and he made himself continue moving.

Climbing onto the bed, he gestured in hesitant invitation, and Harlock moved to take the other side of the bed himself. He stretched out his long, slender legs and leaned back on his elbows almost immediately, his damp, shaggy hair finally falling away from his scarred face as he did.

Yama leaned closer, unable to resist, and Harlock turned his face towards Yama, either in response or just . . . allowing him to look.

Harlock’s scars were old, but thick and broad - much nastier, really, than the one that bisected Yama’s face. The wicked, gnarled slash tore across his eye socket, the scar rough and ugly.

Yama traced it delicately with two fingertips, and Harlock’s good eye closed as he let himself slide down fully. He sighed through his nose and stretched out one arm as Yama leaned over him, fingers straying through his hair alongside his face.

Yama smiled, tentatively settling into the offered space demarked by Harlock’s arm, and Harlock opened his eye, turning onto his side.

“Are you truly happy, to know it is me?” Harlock asked quietly, his left hand trailing up Yama’s arm and back down, fingertips brushing along his ribs.

Yama blinked, surprised, and then nodded shallowly, a touch self-conscious. “I am, Captain. I could only have wished. . .” he trailed off, unsure what he might have said. “And- And you. . .” he asked tentatively.

Harlock rested their brows together and hummed. His nose brushed Yama’s. “I am happy to be here with you.” he said, his words soft but sure.

Yama’s chest felt tight and warm and he shivered, reaching blindly for Harlock’s hand, his wrist, and clasping it firmly. Harlock let him, movements stilling, and tipped his head, kissing Yama’s cheek. “Tu me avez trouvé, mon petit lapinou.” he murmured before drawing back a little.

Yama smiled, gentling his hold on Harlock’s hand. They curled together in his bed, not quite wound up in each other, but their hands were clasped and their heads rested close together on the pillow, and it was . . . comforting. Yama could hear - could _feel_ \- his Captain breathing, and Harlock’s strong, callused hand was sure and relaxed in his own.

He sighed happily, feeling warm all through but his Mark almost pulsing - but not in that pseudo pain this time, instead it was a pleasurable tingling that made him smile. Harlock squeezed his hand, and Yama fell asleep to the sound of him murmuring unintelligible words again.

“Mon petit lapinou. . . Je suis tellement joyeux je t'ai trouvé. Et après tant d'années.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was born from the idea with Yama having _Captain_ on his wrist, and as I was talking about the idea a friend excitedly suggested I have Harlock use a silly/unexpected petname for Yama. (The Marks read not your soulmate's name, but whatever you will call them most frequently. Probably Harlock is more likely to most often call Yama by name, but I immediately liked the idea, and it put a bit of a different spin on the plot.)
> 
> While Harlock learned French for whatever reason, I imagine it has fallen out of fashion in the past hundred years, as Yama has no idea what Harlock is saying. Harlock will probably not tell him what _mon petit lapinou_ means, at least not yet, even as he continues to say it. (I admit; 'silly-cute petname' makes me think of French petnames first.)
> 
> Translations:  
> Mon petit lapinou - ‘my little bunny’  
> Est-ce toi? - Is it you?  
> Tu me avez trouvé - You have found me  
> Je suis tellement joyeux je t'ai trouvé - I’m so happy I’ve found you  
> Et après tant d'années - And after so many years


End file.
